


Tell Me What You Are

by Forgetticus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Breathplay, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Fluff and Humor, Getting Into Trouble, Hair-pulling, Kinky, M/M, Morning Sex, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, One Shot, Pillow Talk, Punishment, Rape Fantasy, Rough Sex, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Shameless Smut, Slapping, Sweet/Hot, Top Harry, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgetticus/pseuds/Forgetticus
Summary: Draco wakes up in Harry's flat...again.Harry can’t cook, play an instrument or write in a straight line - but Merlin, can he work a dick.





	Tell Me What You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Jrayoh23 is my muse.

 

 

 

 

 

“Mmmmm….morning, Draco.”

 

Harry yawns as he greets me, eyes half closed with the heavy down comforter puffed up to his nose. 

 

“Aguuuuhhhh mornin’,” I manage, my lips sticky with saliva and flush against the pillow. I make no move to untangle myself from the comfortable jumble of bedding, or Harry's legs. 

 

I like waking up in Harry’s flat.

 

It’s subtle and blue and in the mornings he keeps blackout shades over the sweeping French windows that overlook the primeval brick landscape of muggle London. Harry’s home is shockingly hospitable. Suspiciously so. 

 

Since I’ve started spending the night, the tea, pastries and scotch that I like have slowly begun accumulating in Harry’s cupboard. I also suspect that he’s contracted someone to clean regularly because, if his office is any indication, he isn’t capable of keeping a space the size of his loo organized.

 

“What are you doing this weekend?” Harry asks, leaning in and laying a sloppy kiss on my shoulder.

 

I grin into the pillow and angle my chin to give him more access. I don’t make any other effort to move beyond trying to wiggle the fingers of my left hand; Harry has pressed himself against my side, half laying on top of me with his weight on my trapped arm. 

 

I put up with quite a bit for Harry Potter now, the least of which being morning pins and needles in my arm. Sleeping under a winter weight duvet even though he has ‘central heat’, intently listening to him talk about muggle cars…occasionally being late to the Ministry where Moody likes to point out that we always come in at the exact same time. 

 

That’s right, old man. And it’s not even a secret why. 

 

As a matter of fact, Harry loves taking me out in public, out on real dates. Drinks with Hermione last weekend. The new Moroccan restaurant in London the week before. I don’t know why he does it...I’m expensive, intolerably loud, and already sleeping with him. But he keeps inviting me, and I keep accepting.

 

“Shagging you?” I say, feeling my fingers come to life right next to where something of Harry’s is also waking up. 

 

“Oh yeah...definitely  _ that _ …” he agrees, voice catching at the end when my hand wraps around the soft warmth of his cock. “But… would you like to come to dinner with me on Saturday?”

 

I manage to subdue a delighted laugh. Instead I let my eyes fall shut and tilt my head into the pillow like I’m considering. There is a contemporary Italian bistro I’d like to try in Bath, very boujee. And I have a new suit that I’ve been looking for an excuse to wear…

 

“It’s at the Weasleys’,” he continues. “Molly is having a dinner for Arthur’s birthday. You could come as my date.”

 

My fingers lose their grip and I turn my cheek to look at Harry curiously through my lashes. 

 

_ So...he wants to bring me home to meet the folks.  _

 

His face is slightly flushed and open in a devilshly earnest grin. 

 

“Hermione will be there,” he offers. “And we’ll get to drive the Ford Anglia there to give it to Arthur. It’ll be fun.” 

 

Oh yes, the Ford Anglia. There are still plenty of muggle words that I don’t know, but I know that one. That is the muggle car Harry always talks about.  _ And _ I know the story behind why Harry acquired one.

 

Back at Hogwarts, when Harry was living with his appalling muggle Aunt and Uncle, the Weasley kids broke him out with a charmed Ford Anglia that they stole from their father. Later he and Ron crashed it into the whomping willow, and the darling thing drove off into the Forbidden Forest to become a creature of the night. So dramatic.

 

Now that we’re nearing thirty and Harry has finally learned that he’s wealthy enough to accommodate some frivolous spending, he has been painstakingly trying to replace the vehicle in time for Mr. Weasley’s birthday. 

 

When Harry bought the Ford Anglia a few weeks ago, he told me the plan was to gift it to Mr Weasley...to repay him for losing the car in the first place and to make up for any trouble it may have caused him. But watching Harry pour money and love into that car, I know it’s more than that. He wants to convey the depth of his gratitude to the family for taking him in and treating him like a son. 

 

I didn’t think that I would be involved beyond the infrequent moral support I provide. I let Harry talk endlessly about the restoration work he’s doing, and always nod encouragingly when he says words like _carburetor_ or _transmission._

 

On some level, being invited to actually present the car is flattering. To be his  _ date.  _ To a family thing. On another level...it’s a little terrifying. 

 

“Is it safe?” I ask finally.

 

“Going to the Weasleys’? Probably.”

 

“The  _ car. _ ”

 

Harry flashes me a broad, boyish grin. 

 

“Of course it’s safe.”

 

I narrow my eyes, trying my best to break open his nonchalant facade with the strength of my glare alone, but he holds strong.

 

“I promise,” he assures me, leaning back down to kiss my shoulder. My cock twitches, already half hard just from waking up in his bed. 

 

A cool blue glow is beginning to frame the heavy drapes, courtesy of the early morning sun. I briefly think about scrambled eggs, toast, tea...the whole-leaf black I like that Harry miraculously never runs out of...Harry, how good Harry is to me, and finally, how much I like him. I don’t see how I can say no. But if our relationship is going to be reaching new, terrifying heights, then I feel like it’s best if we are both experiencing them equally. 

 

“Okay. I’ll be your date. On one condition.” 

 

He nods and starts to nibble on my neck. I almost want to change my request to  _ suck me off right now,  _ but I can probably get him to that anyway, even after I make my real ask.

 

“Come with me for Christmas dinner at the Manor,” I say, purposefully keeping my eyes trained on the far wall.

 

I can’t look at him, and I suspect it may be because I’m afraid that Harry might not want to come with me...might not want to keep pouring effort into this relationship at all. Any moment now he’ll realize that I’m not worth the trouble, and he’ll tell me to just fuck off. 

 

I rotate my jaw and force the next words out of my mouth to sound casual, flippant even. 

 

“It’s a big formal party, but it’ll ensure that Narcissa and Lucius can’t murder either of us without at least a dozen other guests noticing. What do you think?” 

 

My nerves spark and fire off irrationally. I tell myself not to be surprised if he freezes, or gasps, or rolls out of bed and literally runs away. But Harry just peers up at me and smiles. 

 

“Deal,” he says easily. 

 

I feel my eye twitch. To my abject horror, I stumble into a new level of awareness of how insufferable and charming the man grinning at me really is. 

 

We’ve been seeing each other long enough now that he  _ knows me.  _

 

Harry agreed so quickly that he was probably already prepared to give me something in exchange to going to the Weasleys’. Hell, for all I know, he wanted to be invited to something with my family. 

 

My cock hardens as the blood thrums through my veins. I have quite a taste for being desired, being shown off, being chosen...being owned. I am secretly thrilled. 

 

“And, you have to take care of this for me,” I say, wiggling my hips out from under him and flipping onto my back. My erection bounces eagerly against the comforter, tenting it slightly. “Or it’s no deal.”

 

Again, all he does is smile like I am the easiest person in the world to be around. I know I’m not. I know he’s crazy. 

 

“Come on,” I say, trying to sound snappy. “We have a meeting with Moody this morning.”

 

We don’t, but my prick is aching now and want him to suck it like someone’s going to take it from him. 

 

“Do we?” he asks, his voice wicked and careless. His hand snakes under the rumpled duvet and finds my cock, stroking the length of it with practiced pulls. 

 

“Yeah. We’re going to be late,” I lie, licking my lips. 

 

“If you really think so, you could always stop me.” The words come out dark and rough. My cock jumps at the challenge, betraying me. 

 

Harry smirks. He lifts himself up by pressing on my chest and I sink effortlessly into the soft pile of feathers he calls a mattress. Propped up on his left elbow, Harry sprawls next to me on his side. The fingers of his left hand cup the back of my head, and his right hand slaps my thighs apart under the duvet to fondle my balls.

 

“How much time do we really have?” he asks, his free hand weaving its way into my hair and tightening.

 

“Ten minutes. Maybe.” 

 

I answer quickly, obediently, and am rewarded with attention to my needy prick.

 

I let my eyes fall shut and move my hips with his ministrations. I have no idea how his hand possesses the fine motor control that allows it to move so nimbly and firmly; Harry can’t cook, play an instrument or write in a straight line - but Merlin, can he work a dick. 

 

“We won’t have time to shower,” I add breathlessly, knowing full well that he didn’t ask for any further commentary. Anything I can do to insight him into being rough with me is a worthwhile endeavor.  

 

My teeth clench as a the roots of my hair are wretched back in Harry’s tight grip. My neck extends unyieldingly, giving him free reign to suck on my fluttering pulse. The sharp pain tugging at my scalp gives way to a soothing ache; it’s so satisfying that tears form at the corners of my eyes. 

 

I have very specific tastes when it comes sex, and while you may never guess it from his amicable manner and gentle touch, Harry Potter is a natural. The skill with which he weaves the tension in my body makes me borderline giddy, and I can’t wait to feel it all unravel. 

 

“Then I guess you’ll be going to work stinking of sex and covered in cum,” he whispers in my ear. 

 

Now I know we’ve started. I blush at the thought and thrust eagerly into his palm. His words trigger a mental viewing of my private fantasy. It sends a bolt of electricity through my chest, shocking my heart into a rapid flicker.

 

_ Harry leading me through the halls of the Ministry, my hair disheveled, cheeks flushed...his cum dripping down my chin. He walks casually in front with my green tie hooked carelessly over his shoulder and wrapped around his hand. I stumble to keep up as he pulls me, face burning as every single person in the building stares, mouths gaping at me as we pass.  _

 

“This way, everyone will know that I use you as my slut in the mornings.” 

 

My hips jerk involuntarily. I am delighted to hear the low raspy quality of his voice, to feel the hot puffs of his breath against my cheek. It reminds me that I’m not the only one who likes this game...he is just as effected as I am. 

 

“They’ll all know that you do every awful, humiliating thing I tell you to before I fuck you.”

 

“Yesssss,” I hiss. 

 

“You are such a good fucking slut.”

 

In lieu of responding, I grab recklessly for the hand in my hair and instead crush his palm against my straining neck. Harry groans in my ear. He settles his weight into his thigh and sinks his teeth into my shoulder while his fingers wrap around my throat. 

 

”Even good sluts are only good for one thing. Do you know that is?” Harry asks in a dark, tentative voice. His strokes me more slowly, as though his speed and attention hinge entirely on my ability to respond with the correct answer. 

 

And sweet Merlin, I know it. I know it and I’ll tell him any time he wants to hear it. Harry momentarily lifts each finger from my throat like a spider stretching its legs.

 

“Fucking,” I pant, the words just barely escaping before his grip is tight against my windpipe once again. 

 

Harry nods and, with his right hand, works my cock with renewed fervor. “That’s right.” 

 

The duvet is uncomfortably hot now. My stomach, balls and thighs are damp with perspiration under the heavy, insulating down. My eyes flutter as Harry takes the time to run his thumb over the slit of my cock, smearing the precome down my shaft with my sweat. I lift my hips and sink my shoulder blades low into the mattress, inhaling the earthy, muggy smell of the moist cotton. 

 

“You said yourself we don’t have time to clean up,” Harry continues, eyes glazed over with unrestrained lust. “You’ll have to talk to Moody with bruises from my fingers on your perfect neck and my cum dripping out of your ass.” 

 

_ Yesssssss _ , I think, unable to speak, every vein in my neck straining.  _ Please, please please please.  _

 

My heart is crashing against my ribcage and the hum of blood rushing in my ears is louder than my pathetic whimpering. It occurs to me that no one else in the long and complicated history of my sex life has ever had the ability to get me so worked up over a bloody handjob. 

 

“Do you want me to fuck you, Draco?” 

 

_ Yes. More than anything. _

 

My cock is leaking shamelessly now, adding to the oppressive, near tropical heat under the duvet. I nod violently and claw it off. Cool air hits my sweat drenched body and gooseflesh sweeps across my skin and fades just as quickly. 

 

“Then say so,” he demands, knowing full well that I can barely breathe, let alone speak. 

 

Harry climbs on top of me without loosening his grip on my throat. He uses one hand to wretch my thighs apart, but I struggle, doing my best to rile him up. 

 

With resounding force, he open hand slaps me across the face. My neck snaps to the left and saliva sputters out from my lips. There is a blurred  moment in my vision; heat and pain blossom out from my cheek while pleasure spikes through my groin. The next time Harry grasps my thigh, I let it fall to the side. 

 

“Don’t test me,” he says, voice dark and sweet. “I can spend my time disciplining you or fucking you. Whichever you prefer.”

 

_ Bloody hell, the words that come out of that boys mouth... _

 

Although it seems to defy reason, my cheeks redden further and I am turned on past the point I thought possible without drugs or magic _.  _ I try desperately to grind against him. Harry settles between my open legs and leans in, green eyes  burning. I can feel him lining the head of his prick up with my arsehole. 

 

“How badly do you want me to fuck you?” He asks me.

 

If Harry wasn’t squeezing my vocal cords, I would be screaming. 

 

“Bad enough to crawl into the office behind me like my fucking whore?”

 

_ Yes. That and worse, Harry. Please, please, fuck me.   _

 

I try to choke out the words, but all I can manage are a few strangled cries and desperate pleading with my eyes. I can feel the tears running down either side of my cheeks, and I thrash savagely under him, frantically trying to lower myself onto his cock. 

 

“I can’t hear you,” he grounds out, resting his dripping forehead against mine. 

 

I can tell that he’s losing his resolve, that he can only keep this up for so much longer before he inevitably surrenders and fucks me into next week. 

 

With some effort, I wiggle forward and lock my ankles around Harry’s lower back. I urge him inside me with every ounce of strength I can spare, feeling him slowly open me up. His groan is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard, and the pressure on my neck eases just a fraction. 

 

“Please….fuck me...” I gasp.

 

For all the weight Harry has on my neck, he’s the one who’s choking and gasping now. His cock is sinking into me, and I can hear him desperately muttering the lubrication spells, cutting it so close but still managing to ease the splitting pain inside me by half. I nearly curse him for being so  _ Gryffindor _ , but when my windpipe suddenly opens, the words that come out are exclusively begging. 

 

“Harry, please, please….pleeease,” I sob, my voice broken and unrecognizable, ground to gravel by his palm.. 

 

My back arches off the bed as my chest fully expands for the first time in ages. I stretch out looking left and right and see Harry’s forearms braced against the mattress on either side of me, sweat dripping and veins popping. He’s buried in my arse to the hilt, but he’s barely moving. Just rocking. 

 

“HARRY,” I scream. 

 

“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” he growls. He pulls back and slams into me...white hot pleasure explodes in my groin. 

 

“Yesssss,” I cry.  _ Finally.  _

 

My hands fly up to Harry’s back and my nails tear into the surface, frantic to carve the depth of just how much I love everything he’s doing. Everything he does.

 

“You’re mine,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ll do whatever I fucking want to you, and you’ll tell me that you like it.”

 

_ “ _ Oh my fucking god, yes, I’m yours, do whatever you want to me,” I babble incoherently. 

 

My legs are folded nearly in half and Harry is pounding into me at a backbreaking pace. The pressure building in my cock is unforgiving, all encompassing. Everything else fades into an endless void and only the feeling, the  _ need,  _ burns brightly in darkness. 

 

_ I’m so fucking close. So...so close.  _

 

_ “ _ Tell me what you are,” Harry demands, wrapping his fingers back around my tender neck. 

 

My ability to see and breathe disintegrate into nothing. The white brightness expands, swallowing me whole and burning up my entire being in searing ecstasy. 

 

“ _ Your slut _ ,” I gasp. 

 

Cum splashes across my stomach, and the rippling sensation of pleasure unlocks each of my muscles like the complicated gears and levers of a vault yielding in rapid succession. I tremble through the aftershock. 

 

The loud, shameless drama of my orgasm earns me three more shattering thrusts from Harry before he loses it, clutching the duvet and shrieking my name. I run my hands soothingly over his back, his shoulders, his damp tangle of hair, calming him. I can’t help but whisper hoarsely in his ear that he’s  _ gorgeous _ , he  _ makes me crazy  _ and dozens of other small nothings that seem to spill over my lips as though I’ve sprung a leak. 

 

My muscles are as loose and I feel completely boneless, positive that I couldn’t stand up if Merlin himself demanded it. We relax into the mattress together, a mess of cum and sweat and adoring contentment. 

 

“We’re going to be in trouble aren’t we?” Harry asks, snuggling back into my shoulder like the big, sweet saint of a man he truly is. He casts the allievitating spells I taught him that ease the rasp right out of my voice and fade the bruising on my pale skin before it starts. 

 

“We definitely are,” I say easily, my own fingers rising to my throat to feel the fresh lack of tenderness. 

 

But we probably aren’t. We don’t have any meetings, so more than likely, no one will even notice if we quietly make our way into the office twenty-ish minutes late. Or Moody will call us out again, and Harry will shrug and I’ll give him a big wink as we walk by. Same as always. 

 

Either way, my words seem to go unnoticed. Harry either doesn’t register them, doesn’t really believe me or doesn’t care. Instead, he wraps his arms around me and sighs, holding me as close as I’ve ever been held. 

 

I let my eyes fall shut. 

 

I think about how good Harry feels and how excited and nervous I am to meet the Weasleys. Gods, is bringing him to Christmas at the manor crazy? Am I crazy? Of course I am...I’m trusting  _ Harry Potter _ to take me to the  _ Weasleys’ _ in his muggle death machine.

 

A small, happy sigh escapes my lips. It all sounds...nice. 

 

I wrap my arms around him tightly, winding us together on the bed. In that moment, I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

 

_ I am definitely in trouble. And I fucking love it.  _

  
  
  


 

 

 

 


End file.
